


You're Here, There's Nothing I Fear

by MacPherson



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Eponine is mentioned but doesn't actually appear, First Meetings, Gratuitous Titanic References, I would apologize but that would imply that I'm sorry, Kidfic, M/M, background Courferre, field trip to Mystic Seaport 'cause I'm from Connecticut and that's what we do, parts of this are pure crack, teacher!enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacPherson/pseuds/MacPherson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Grantaire pats Enjolras’ shoulder and takes a few steps towards Gavroche. “Gav, he’s only upset because monarchy is an archaic institution that has no place in the modern world. So stop glorifying tyrannical forms of governance and get down.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Based on this prompt from Murf:</p><p>kidfic. all i want in this world is broadway miz kidfic with gavroche getting dadded by grantaire and occasionally enjolras. BROADWAY MIZ KIDFIC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Here, There's Nothing I Fear

Enjolras knows that parenting pre-teen children is difficult, especially when they’re not actually your children.

He’s responsible for thirty of the little shits for seven hours every day, molding their young minds into responsible, aware citizens while trying to stop them from strangling each other.

He knows that Gavroche’s home life is difficult, that his sister Eponine, who has custody of him because his parents are complete assholes, gets home from work at two in the morning, sleeps for three and a half hours, and then gets up to get her two younger siblings to school.

But that doesn’t mean it’s acceptable for Gavroche to be late to school every day. Especially on their field trip day, when Enjolras has twenty-nine obnoxious twelve-year-olds punching each other and screaming and climbing over the bus seats, and a bus driver who is passive-aggressively sighing deeply every few seconds.

If they wait much longer, they’re going to be late to the museum, and after all the bureaucracy he went through to get this trip approved, and paying for the bus out of his own (well, his parent’s) pocket, that is really not something he wants to do.

He also really doesn’t want to leave Gavroche behind. The poor kid deserves to come along on the trip.

The blare of a car horn makes him look up from his watch, and he sees a beat up sedan that is at least as old as him pulling into a parking space faster than is really advisable.

Gavroche pops out of the back seat, slamming the door behind him, and books it across the lot, messy dark hair flying.

“Gavroche! Finally!” He checks off the child’s name on his clipboard and waves him onto the bus.

Gavroche sticks his tongue out at his teacher as he bounds up the steps.

“Um, hi.” The voice is warm and rich and unfamiliar and the tingle in his spine is definitely due to the excitement of finally being able to start the trip. Definitely the trip. Education is what he lives for.

Enjolras turns and finds himself face to face with someone who is definitely not Eponine.

Well, not so much face to face. Being nearly six and a half feet tall means you don’t really stand face to face with many people.

The man before him looks like he got lost on the way home from a Black Keys concert. The plaid shirt. The skinny jeans. The Chucks. And the Ray-Bans, oh God the Ray-Bans. He’s a walking cliché, but the smirk on his face makes Enjolras believe he might be ever-so-slightly ironic about it.

His nose is sharp and his hair is wavy and brown, and awkwardly longer than short but shorter than long, and Enjolras finds that incredibly frustrating.

Enjolras finds himself really wishing he could see this guy's eyes. Are they blue or brown? Or possibly green or hazel?

"You're not Eponine." He blurts.

"Congratulations. You're not blind."

 "Where's Eponine?"

"She couldn't make it. Something came up. Family thing."

Enjolras swears silently. No Eponine means that their adult-child ratio is off and this trip is now probably illegal.

And he went through all that fucking bureaucracy to make it happen, too.

"She gave me a note to give to you. I'm Grantaire, by the way. Just in case you were curious."

Enjolras grunts noncommittally as he unfolds the rumpled piece of paper.

_This is my best friend Grantaire. He'll be subbing for me as a chaperone today. If anyone asks, he's Gav's brother. If anyone has any issues with this, they can take it up with me. Have fun! -Ep_

He sighs and sticks the note under the clip of his clipboard. “Okay, I’ll go along with this—for the sake of the children.”

Sunglasses Guy—Grantaire—snorts. “Right. Everything is for the children.”

Enjolras doesn’t know what to make of that remark, so he ignores it. He pulls a sheet of paper and a blank nametag from his clipboard and a Sharpie from his pocket.

“Here. You’ll be responsible for one group of five students. Please make sure not to lose them or break them or anything like that.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Uh, well, we’re running late, so let’s get on with it.”

They’re turning to go up into the bus when someone comes bounding down the steps. Grantaire is about to introduce himself when he realizes he doesn’t have to. 

“Oh my God, Grantaire, hi! What a surprise!”

“Uh, hey Courf. How are you?”

“You two know each other?” Enjolras interrupts.

“It’s a long story,” Courfeyrac tells Enjolras over Grantaire’s shoulder as he pulls him into a hug.

“What he means is that we went on two dates about three years ago.”

“And I’m still heartbroken that you never called.”

“And I’m sure that whoever put that ring on your finger would be thrilled by the direction this conversation is taking.”

Courfeyrac looks down at his hand, and blushes, as if he’d forgotten the ring was there. He spins it around his finger as he replies, “Yeah. Married for six months already. Can you believe it?”

“Not really.”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“That’s me. Who’s the lucky dude, lady, or nonbinary person?”

“That would be me,” a new voice chimes in. “Are we leaving for this trip, or do we have to keep sending out search parties for teachers who get off the bus?”

Courfeyrac blushes even redder and his face opens up in a wide grin. “Grantaire, this is my husband Combeferre. He’s the school psychologist/social worker/everyone’s best friend.”

“Nice to meet you.” He seems to be getting ready to move on, but then his eyebrows furrow. “Combeferre, right? I’ve totally heard of you.”

“Really?” Combeferre looks very pleased with himself.

“Yeah. I should have known that the two of you would end up together, given that all this idiot—“ he gently elbows Courfeyrac “—would talk about, both of the times we went out, was you. Well, you and some guy named Toussaint.”

Courfeyrac had seemed okay a moment ago, but is suddenly taken over by a coughing fit. He leans on Combeferre, who claps him on the back a few times.

“Sorry about that,” he sputters. “Got a tickle in my throat.”

“Who is this Toussaint guy you’re so close with that I’ve never met?” Enjolras asks. He’s not upset or jealous or anything. Really. It’s just that Courfeyrac is so open he’s surprised he has friends he’s never heard of.

Courfeyrac starts coughing again. “About that…” he chokes out. “There’s a possibility it’s… you.”

Grantaire seems to find this hilarious. “ _You’re_ Toussaint?”

“Excuse me?”

Courfeyrac sighs. “Back when I wasn’t sure if you were going to fight the system from within or from the outside, I didn’t refer to you by name so people could maintain plausible deniability in case they were ever tortured for information about you. Your code name was Toussaint Louverture. You should be flattered.”

“What, just because I’m tall, black, political, and of Haitian descent, I’m suddenly Toussaint Louverture?”

“While you ponder the ramifications of that,” Combeferre cuts in, “we’ve left thirty sixth graders on a bus with only Feuilly and Jehan to look after them, and we’re now running fifteen minutes late, so shall we hit the road?”

Enjolras is pouting as he drops into the seat beside Feuilly, who, bless him, has the good sense not to ask him what’s wrong.

Gavroche is sprawled across the seat opposite, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he’s sitting up front with the teachers while all the cool kids are at the back. Either oblivious or he just doesn’t care.

Grantaire, who clambered onto the bus after everyone else, gently nudges Gav’s shoulder. “Think you could slide over a bit, squirt?”

“Call me that again and I will castrate you,” Gavroche says, scooting towards the window and looking at Grantaire with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I used to change your diapers, you know. And I will not hesitate to remind you of that.”

“Yeah, and I’ve seen you after a bender. You’re an excellent role model.”

“I am of legal age, I make sure to maintain regular contact with a sober friend, and I never take my car keys with me so I make sure I can’t drive. I’m a very responsible drunk.”

“Last year you accidentally adopted a goat.”           

“Which was more responsible than leaving the poor thing in the freezing cold. You’re really not helping your cause here.”

The bus ride takes about half an hour, and gives Enjolras a massive headache. He loves his students, he really does, but there is truth behind the saying that familiarity breeds contempt. Crammed on a school bus with thirty over-stimulated twelve-year-olds is not exactly his idea of a good time.

Just wait until they get outside, surrounded by two hundred years of history, where they can see the shipyards that built the vessels that made the region an economic powerhouse—the general store with its groceries from another era, the tiny church where people have been praying for the safety of their loved ones for generations. It’s _history_ and it’s _alive_ and soon it’s going to be _all around them_.

What Enjolras really loves about teaching history is that moment when he students begin to grasp that it’s _real_. That, yes, it’s abstract, but they’re learning about _people_. People who lived a long time ago that seems very far away, but that lived and loved and made decisions that impact how they live their lives now. And they’re lucky enough to live in an area where they can go and see what remains of those earlier times, experience it for themselves.

It’s sunny and warm and the blustery wind smells of salt. The kids bound off the bus, and it takes ten minutes to get the groups sorted out and divided up for their activities. Combeferre and Courfeyrac and Jehan and their groups start with a video and activity in the visitor’s center, while Enjolras, Grantaire, and Feuilly and their groups start with a tour.

Grantaire fits in seamlessly. He banters with Feuilly and his group of twelve-year-olds with equal friendliness.

On his name tag, which now resides on the left side of his chest, he’s written his name in an elegant, vine-like script, and added “Gavroche’s brother” in small lettering in the corner, under a truly breathtaking caricature of the kid.

Though he would definitely deny it if anyone asked him, because, hey, he’s twelve and he’s allowed to be somewhat moody, it’s clear Gavroche adores Grantaire. The troublemaker hangs by the man’s side, alternating between shooting daggers at anyone who approaches and looking incredibly proud when one of his classmates seems to realize how incredibly awesome his “big brother” actually is.

Their tour guide takes them around the village, stopping in at all the buildings, explaining what they were used for, pointing out objects of interest. After an hour, they finally end up on the museum’s centerpiece: the 1841 whaling ship. It’s too small and cramped for the tour guide to lead all of them through it together, so she gives them some pointers and lets them loose on deck.

Enjolras is discussing rope storage and knots with a student who happens to be a Boy Scout when Grantaire approaches and offers him a plastic tube.

"Sunblock, Enjolras? Set a good example for the kids."

"Sunscreen turns me purple."

"And your vanity is worth the skin cancer?"

“It’s not about my vanity. It’s about the fact that the vast majority of personal care products, even ones that supposedly protect the user, are formulated with pale skin as the default, and—“

“I’M THE KING OF THE WOOOOOORLD!!!”

Oh no. They both know whose voice that is and what trouble the little monster is capable of causing.

Enjolras and Grantaire whip around.

Gavroche is standing in the prow of the ship, feet on the railing, arms in the air, sucking in another huge breath, presumably to continue loudly quoting _Titanic_.

“I’M THE KING OF—“

“Gavroche, don’t you dare,” Enjolras hisses.

The child looks over his shoulder, and grins at Grantaire. “—OF THE WORLD!!!”

“Gavroche, I mean it, get down at once!” His teacher scolds.

Grantaire pats Enjolras’ shoulder and takes a few steps towards Gavroche. “Gav, he’s only upset because monarchy is an archaic institution that has no place in the modern world. So stop glorifying tyrannical forms of governance and get down.”

“Make me.”

“I’m not really into using force, Gavroche.” Enjolras says, folding his arms across his chest.

Grantaire turns to him, his jaw slack in disbelief. “What are you going to do? Convince him that he wants to get down?”

“It’s the right thing to do.”

“And he’s twelve!”

“I can hear you, you know!” Gavroche calls.

“There is no age limit on conscience.”

“Thank you, Your Holiness the Dalai Lama, but right now there’s a kid who could fall overboard off a boat, and for someone who would get the pants sued off him if that happened and less than a minute ago was commanding him to get down, you’re taking this very well.”

Mostly, Enjolras is trying to focus on the child, and not the fact that Grantaire just made a reference to taking his pants off.

The other kids are gathering around, snickering and egging on Gavroche, and one sits on the railing and swivels around so his legs are over the water, before Feuilly grabs him by the waist and pulls him back onto the deck.

Gavroche is still standing there on the railing, looking over his shoulder at the havoc he’s wreaking. “I’m flying, R, I’m flying!”’

Grantaire, standing a few feet behind him with his hands on his hips, shakes his head with a chuckle. “If you’re gonna reenact _Titanic_ , bro, you gotta do it right.”

“Grantaire…” comes the warning from Enjolras.

“He’s expressing himself!”

Grantaire positions himself behind Gavroche, making sure he’s got good footing on the deck, and takes hold of the kid’s outstretched hands. “ _Now_ you’re flying.”

“Okay, dude, but I’m not gonna kiss you.”

Grantaire snorts. “Obviously not. That would be wrong on so many levels. Now. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you.”

“Fool!” Grantaire throws his arms around Gavroche’s waist and pulls him down from the railing, swinging him around so he’s facing an Enjolras who is trying very hard to look thunderous rather than incredibly amused.

“If he had watched _Love Actually_ rather than _Titanic_ ,” Grantaire breathlessly explains, “he would have seen that plot twist coming.” He lovingly ruffles Gav’s hair. “You’ve got to watch better romcoms, dude. The writing in _Love Actually_ is just so much better.”

Enjolras sighs, and nods silently when the tour guide tells him it’s time for lunch.

Even through those stupid Ray-Bans, he can tell that Grantaire is having a hard time looking anywhere but him.

And if he spends the entire forty-minute bus ride back to the school that afternoon smiling into the back of his hand, listening to Grantaire and Gavroche belt out spirited rendition after spirited rendition of “My Heart Will Go On,” that’s entirely his own business.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic brought to you by this prompt from [Murf](http://lecapunk.tumblr.com):
> 
> kidfic. all i want in this world is broadway miz kidfic with gavroche getting dadded by grantaire and occasionally enjolras. BROADWAY MIZ KIDFIC.
> 
> Mystic Seaport is a real place, and the ship is a real thing, and you can learn all about them [here](http://www.mysticseaport.org/)
> 
> Similarly, Toussaint Louverture was a real person, and he's [pretty important](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toussaint_Louverture)
> 
> And I'm [on Tumblr](http://missmarionmac.tumblr.com) and I promise I'm really awkwardly friendly.


End file.
